


Late Morning

by treemancer



Series: The Wicked and Natural Order [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dark Cullen Rutherford, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Forced Masturbation, Hurt No Comfort, Masturbation, POV Cullen Rutherford, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Coercion, Unrequited Lust, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treemancer/pseuds/treemancer
Summary: The morning after the Inquisitor’s run-in with the Orlesian gentry, Cullen comes to check on her when she misses the meeting with her War Council.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Series: The Wicked and Natural Order [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090949
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Late Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I know y’all read the tags but just to be sure: this is dark, it’s not consensual. It’s from Cullen’s perspective, and Cullen is delusional. It is deliberately dark. That's the point, that’s the kink, this does not have a happy ending, please don’t leave me any comments surprised that Cullen is doing evil shit in a fic tagged “Dark Cullen”. Dead dove do not eat.
> 
> But if you're into that then continue.

The Inquisitor’s disappearance the night before had been worrying, but not an immediate concern. What mattered was that she ended up in her own bed at the end of the night and was present in the morning when it was time to leave.

When she isn’t present for the morning meeting with her advisors as she usually was, well, then it feels like it’s worth being concerned.

The Winter Palace has Leliana and Josephine busy. As far as Cullen is concerned, his work is finished. The Empress is saved, the soldiers have done their jobs, and there’s no reason that he needs to look at or speak to another Orlesian noble until the next Age. He readily breaks off from the group to go check on the Inquisitor instead of listening to whatever necessary conversation they’re having about this lord or that marquise.

It’s unusual for Lavellan to be late for much. She’s more likely to be up before they are. With some measure of unfairness, Cullen assumes that she’d been off socializing with the elven servants, maybe getting drunk and making trouble once the Inquisition’s work was done. He wouldn’t put it past her.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen knocks, three quick raps. No answer. “ _Inquisitor_?” He knocks again, and still there’s silence. He presses his ear to the door, listening for the telltale rustle of someone who’s _late_.

He frowns. If she’s still asleep, pounding on the door will only bring attention. He looks up and down the hallway and, when he finds he isn’t being watched, checks the doorknob.

It’s unlocked. Cullen gives it a second thought before letting himself inside. Inviting himself into Her Worship’s room is a faux pas even _Cullen_ knows better than to commit, but this is _important_ (so he tells himself). If she’s sick or missing, he has to _know_.

She seems to be neither, half sitting up in the large, soft guest bed. The Inquisitor looks particularly small here, in this lavish room that the Empress reserves for extended family and honored guests, all of it fine and too large. In contrast, Lavellan is slight, too thin, almost plain, made all the sweeter by her too-big green eyes and soft mouth, soft hair, soft hands.

And she’s completely naked, her small, perfectly round breasts exposed and her pink nipples hard. Cullen’s cock reacts before he does.

He’s thought about her before, of _course_ he has. He’s wanted her since Haven, a hand fisted in her hair while he pounds her over the war table. Perhaps it’s projection, but Cullen is convinced that everyone has similar thoughts. It’s in the way they look at her, with awe and barely contained lust.

“Inquisitor, you’re… late.”

She looks up at him and automatically folds her arms, hiding her chest. He can see now that there are bruises on her arms and chest, the width of a man’s palm. “Sorry. I’ll get up.” Her eyes are a little cloudy, and when she moves again, there’s a certain stiffness in her movements.

Cullen should help her. He should get her clothes and offer her something to wear. Instead, he’s frozen in place, entranced by the way she moves. Despite trying to cover her tits, she climbs out of bed and lets him see the rest of her instead, her narrow hips and her round, pretty backside, those faint bruises dotting all the places he wants to hold her while he fucks her.

He knew she'd been running around fighting Florianne's lackeys all night, but he'd seen her afterward. She hadn't been moving like _this_ and hadn't complained of soreness. This must have happened afterward.

"Your Worship…" Cullen trails off when she bends over her luggage. Does she let everyone see her so bare? No, that can't be right, or he would have heard gossip about it. Lavellan isn't squeamish about nudity, but this is different. Her cheeks are more bruised than the rest of her, as if someone has taken her over their knee and spanked her until their hand went numb. She keeps her thighs close together, denying him a glimpse of her small, tight little cunt.

He flushes, a little angry. Is she teasing him? She must know that he's attracted, he's terrible at hiding it, and the growing pressure in his breeches distracts from the curious horror over how she's gotten into this state.

"What _happened_ to you?"

Lavellan is quiet at first, for so long he considers repeating his question. She haphazardly tosses clothes onto the bed and eventually replies, "I'm not entirely sure. The last thing I remember clearly is talking to some Orlesian lord and drinking bad wine. And then he…"

Still bleary from sleep, she touches her bicep, brows furrowed while she thinks. "...He led me to a parlor. He tore my jacket, and there was some terrible woman and a man with a jeweled mustache and a few other people and then…"

She trails off as if the physical effort of speaking leaves her tired, her jaw stiff. She doesn't need to elaborate; the story is the same, anytime there's a group with power and a fetish. Cullen clenches his teeth, biting back his initial reaction (which is to throw something).

They'd all gotten sloppy after Florianne was outed, drifting from each other, assuming the Inquisitor could take care of herself. None of them had seen her being carted away by some Orlesian fop — likely one of Gaspard's people — to be defiled and used. It's all too easy for Cullen to conjure the image of it, their creepy masked faces and lecherous hands, the Inquisitor's lithe, pretty limbs splayed out while she's taken like an animal in a fancy royal parlor. They had surely come inside of her, they wouldn't take care not to, as surely as they had used her mouth and likely sodomized her.

It's a grave insult to the Inquisition, and one they can do little about without threatening their brand new alliances. But truth be told, Cullen doesn't _care_. He's too distracted by blinding jealousy and a borderline traitorous erection. He's always looked at Lavellan with a mix of awe, insecurity, and lust. He sees her now and can imagine nothing but her dirty cunt overflowing with the seed of Orlesian filth.

All this he swallows down, softening his voice to say, "I am _sorry_ , Your Worship. It was our job to protect you, and we failed. None of us expects you at something so trivial as a meeting in your condition."

Lavellan is plucking at her shirtsleeve by then, sitting on the bed and already exhausted at the prospect of pulling on her nice clothes. "No, I… we have work to do. I need to do it."

"No," he says gently. "You don't. I'll tell Leliana and Josephine what happened and they'll---"

"No! No, please don't."

Cullen sighs. It's not as if it won’t be immediately obvious. Leliana probably knows already by now, with her spies in the Empress's servants. But he doesn't push, pivoting instead to, "Then I'll say you're unwell and need the day in. They'll understand that. Those bruises will linger if they aren't treated; is there salve in your bags? I'll fetch some if not."

The Inquisitor nods, motioning toward one of her bags. As he retrieves the salve, she picks up her shirt and holds it to her chest.

He approaches her like she’s a nervous animal, gently touching her shoulder before settling next to her. She flinches; he goes still, but his cock twitches almost violently in his smalls.

“Let me help you,” he says gently. “I’ll start with your back.”

The Inquisitor nods again. She relaxes, just a fraction, but she leans forward half an inch as an invitation.

Her back isn’t as bad, but her neck and shoulders have some dark discoloration. The Inquisitor is all tight, lean muscle. Cullen can feel the vague outlines of her bones underneath his fingers, spreading salve over the bruise on the back of her neck and pausing before he tries to grip.

They’d drugged her. The Inquisitor never would have let Orlesian nobility touch her if she hadn’t been drugged. But she’s letting him come close, letting him touch her while she’s naked. She’s always been observant and empathetic, even and especially around him. She wouldn’t be letting him so close if she didn’t want him to touch, would she? If she didn’t want his hands where someone else had touched her, his cock where—-

Cullen clears his throat, bracing his hand on her back when she shudders. “I should do your arms next, and then your… front. Your Worship.” He manages to keep most of the nervousness out of his voice.

The Inquisitor takes a deep breath, steeling herself before setting her shirt aside. She offers her arms, pushing her small breasts together in the process. Her chest is dotted with purple, her nipples swollen from being grabbed and bitten, begging to be soothed by a soft tongue.

Cullen swallows hard and spreads more salve on his hands. He’s gentle with her arms and wrists, leaving her skin shiny.

She trembles underneath him when he cups her right breast, leaving it slick before moving on to the left. She’s looking away when he touches — and he feels her stiffen when his hand lingers. The Inquisitor’s tits fit easily in his hand, her small nipple tight and hard against his palm, making her jump when he rolls it between his fingers. There are scratches on her skin from the sharp edges of masks, left when they had sucked and bitten her chest.

He has a sudden vision of coming on her round little breasts, holding the Inquisitor’s hair and steadying her while his cock pulses in his own hand, leaving messy spurts of seed on her tight nipples, letting her clean up his messy erection with her tongue.

“Commander.” Her voice jars him out of his thoughts. She’s looking up at him with… Maker, with something. Fear? Desire? Strange how those two things look so alike.

Cullen pulls his hands back, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he says, “Your legs, Your Worship. It would be easier if you were turned away from me. Perhaps if you stand.” He’s more confident now. If it were anyone else, this would be horribly invasive, but she’s let him come this far.

The Inquisitor bites her lip, worrying it with her teeth. For a moment he thinks that she’ll refuse, a knot of tension winding around his stomach — but eventually she gets up, glancing over her shoulder to watch him while she steps in front.

Her backside is _perfect_ , tight and round and mottled with the worst of the bruises. There are scratches on her curve of her ass and on the inside of her thighs, leading his eyes to her tight, sweet little cunt. Their _mouths_ had been here, violating her pussy, leaving marks on her most sensitive skin. Even without getting a closer look, he can tell that both of her entrances were used, pounded and sodomized and leaving her walking stiff.

Cullen has never been harder or more jealous in his life. He’s straining obviously against his breeches, and even as he cradles her cheeks in both hands to spread salve over her bruises, all he can think of is dragging her into his lap, bouncing her on his cock until she’s full of hot, Ferelden come. 

His fingers are sliding over her cunt before he realizes it. The Inquisitor makes one soft, girlish noise before covering her mouth, holding so still she almost forgets to shake. She’s so smart, so _good_ , she knows that if any servants hear her whimpering in pleasure they’ll run right back to their spymaster about it. She trembles in his hand, shuddering when he finds her clit, her toes digging into the floor like she wants to bolt but doesn’t.

“Did they make you come?” he asks impulsively, even as his fingertips circle her clit. It’s not just the salve making her slick, he realizes, she’s _wet_. Compared to her slight frame, his hands — calloused and work-worn — look larger between her legs, fully covering her pussy and her other hole. When she nods, he realizes it isn’t enough. “Inquisitor…?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she says, muffled by her hands. “I came.” She sounds preoccupied, gasping quietly when he catches her clit between two fingers for a moment.

Cullen swallows down the lump of jealousy in his throat. “Did you _want_ to?” It’s a dark question, asked with his fingers rubbing against her cunt. 

There’s a tight silence between them, interrupted only by the soft, wet noise between her legs. He’s watching her back with a steady gaze while he gets more salve on his free hand and rubs it over the bruises on her cheeks.

He waits until the silence worries him. It isn’t until he presses his slick thumb against her asshole and she _jumps_ that she says, “No!”

“No…?”

“No, I didn’t _want to_. I was… they made me.”

It’s the vulnerability of it that breaks him. He can’t stand the idea of leaving her here with parts of her body last touched by Orlesian gentry. The Inquisitor _must_ agree or she wouldn’t be letting him touch her like this.

His middle fingers sink easily into her cunt, rewarding him with a _squeal_. Maker, she’s wet, if she didn’t want him back her pussy wouldn’t be dripping down her thighs. The Inquisitor trembles in his hand, soft and tight inside. Cullen braces his other hand on her hip, pushing inside of her until she feels his knuckles against her entrance.

When he drags his fingers back out, he half expects to come back with seed dripping out of her. She must have cleaned herself up as soon as she got back, and he imagines her in the bath, plunging her fingers inside of her bruised holes just to get to come out of her body and go to bed free of it.

The Inquisitor whimpers and Cullen leans in, resting his forehead against the small of her back. “It’s all right,” he says softly. “Shh—-it’s all right.”

She reaches back, pressing a delicate hand against his shoulder — no doubt bracing herself for him, he can feel her weight in his hand from her legs buckling, she wants to sit in his lap. “Commander.”

“Come to me, Inquisitor. We’ll forget what they’ve done together.”

“Wait—-”

Cullen pulls her down, the Inquisitor’s legs easily going out from under her as he settles her on his thighs. He makes quick work of his breeches; as soon as his achingly hard cock is exposed to the air, he’s taking it into his fist to hold it steady. It’s so fast that the Inquisitor barely has time to react before she’s being pulled back, her sore pussy suddenly full of Cullen’s thick, heavy manhood as she cries out in such pleasure that it sounds almost like anguish.

He holds her in a tight, comforting bear hug, one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. The Inquisitor just barely bounces in his lap when he thrusts up into her, each jerk of his hips pushing another sweet noise from her mouth.

“I know you want to come,” he groans, rubbing his mouth against the point of her ear. “I won’t come until you do. You should come without Orlesian filth forcing it on you. I’ll be right here. Touch yourself, Your Worship.”

The Inquisitor squirms in his lap, gripping his arm as he fucks her. When she finally reaches for her cunt, there are long red marks from her nails on his skin. The bite of pain only makes him groan, pressing his face against her neck and thinking of the day when he has her again and she can leave scratches on his back. Her fingers make quick, wet noises as she strokes her pussy, bucking and squeezing around his cock while she touches herself.

She covers her mouth when she comes, stifling her squealing little moans while she pulses and wriggles, her cunt dripping into his lap. Cullen goes still so he can just hold her.

Even when the waves of her orgasm quiet, she still twitches violently, in what’s clearly discomfort. Cullen makes a sympathetic sound, gently massaging her thigh and easing her off of his still hard cock. 

“That’s better, isn’t it?” His voice is sweet, a lover’s tone that he never thought he would be allowed to use for her. “Shhh—-it’s all right, I’ll stop, I don’t want to hurt you. Let’s get you back to bed, my love, don’t worry about your meeting.

The Inquisitor is quiet when he eases her out of his lap, and she lets him guide her back into bed, naked and swallowed up by the luxurious bedspread. He’s still _achingly_ hard, hanging out of his breeches.

He catches her looking at his cock when she lays down, biting her lip. Of course; if she loves him back (oh, Maker, she does, doesn’t she?), she hardly wants to leave him unsatisfied. Her eyes widen when his hand goes to his erection, he sees her swallow when he starts to stroke.

Cullen cradles her face with his free hand, brushing his thumb over her pretty mouth. “I want to come everywhere they came,” he says softly, “make sure they’re off of you for good. When we leave here I’ll come back to you, Your Worship, I promise. Once your bruises heal I’ll fill up your sweet little holes with my seed. —-I could fill your mouth right now—-”

“Next time,” she says quickly. 

_Maker, she wants there to be a next time._ Even as he works his thumb into her mouth, opens it up so he can see her tongue and hear her sigh, he has to admit that he likes the idea of watching her pleasure him with her mouth some other day.

“Next time,” he promises. “But I’m so hard, Your Worship, you’re so beautiful…”

Cullen eases down the blanket so he can see her chest, her round little tits, her hard nipples. He squeezes one, pinching her nipple and hearing her squeak. Next time he fucks her, he’ll make sure they’re face to face so he can see her tits bouncing for him, her pert nipples begging him to suck.

He splashes a load of seed across her tits when he comes, groaning and cradling her breast close to the other, dirtying as much skin as he can. Resting a knee on the bed, he strokes himself through the pulses, dripping the last one on her cheek and obscuring part of her tattoo.

She looks beautiful. She always does, but now she’s beautiful and _his_. 

Looking at his seed splashed over her soft skin, Cullen knows he’ll have her again — in her mouth, in her pussy, even deep inside of her ass, until the Inquisitor forgets that she’s ever had anyone else.


End file.
